 CHAPTER 12 THE EXPELED LITTLE BOY Look here! said Cyril, sitting on the dining-table and swinging his legs. I really have got it! Got what? was the not unnatural rejoinder of the others. Cyril was making a boat with a pen-knife and a piece of wood, and the girls were making warm frocks for their dolls, for the weather was growing chilly. Why, don't you see? It's really not any good at going into the past looking for that, Amulet. The past is full of different times as the sea is of sand. We're simply bound to hit on the wrong time. We might spend our lives looking for the Amulet and never see a sight of it. Why, it's the end of September already. It's like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay, I know! interrupted Robert. But if we don't go on doing that, what are we to do? That's just it! said Cyril in mysterious accents. Oh, bother! Old nurse had come in with the tray of knives, forks and glasses, and was getting the tablecloth and table napkins out of the chiffonier drawer. It's always mealtimes just when he come to anything interesting. And a nice interesting handful you'd be, master Cyril, said old nurse, if I wasn't to bring you meals up to time. Don't you begin grumbling now, fear you got something to grumble at. Home wasn't grumbling, said Cyril quite untruely, but it does always happen like that. You deserve to have something happen, said old nurse, slave, slave, slave, for your day and night and never a word of thanks. Why, you do everything beautifully, said Anthea. It's the first time any of you is troubled to say so anyhow, said nurse shortly. What's the use of saying? inquired Robert. We eat our meals fast enough, and almost always two helps. That ought to show you. Ah, said old nurse, going round the table and putting the knives and forks in their places. You're a man all over, master Robert. There was my poor green. All the years he lived with me, I never could get more out of him, then. It's all right when I asked him if he fancied his dinner. And yet, when he lay at dine, his last words to me was Maria. You was always a good cook. She ended with a trembling voice. And so you are, cried Anthea, and she and Jane instantly hugged her. When she had gone out of the room, Anthea said, I know exactly how she feels. Now look here. Let's do a penance to show we're sorry we didn't think about telling her before. What nice cooking she does, and what a dear she is. Penances are silly, said Robert. Not if the penance is something to please someone else. I didn't mean old peas and hair shirts and sleeping on the stones. I mean we'll make her a sorry present, explained Anthea. Look here. I vote Cyril doesn't tell us his idea until we've done something for all nurse. It's worse for us than him, she added hastily, because he knows what it is and we don't. Do you all agree? The others would have been ashamed not to agree, so they did. It was not till quite near the end of dinner, mutton fritters and blackberry and apple pie, that out of the earnest talk of the fore came an idea that pleased everybody, and would, they hoped, please nurse. Cyril and Robert went out with the taste of apple still in their mouths and the purple of blackberries on their lips, and in the case of Robert, on the wristband as well, and bought a big sheet of cardboard at the stationers, then at the plumber's shop, that has tubes and pipes and taps and gas fittings in the window, they bought a pane of glass the same size as the cardboard. The man cut it with a very interesting tool that had a bit of diamond at the end, and he gave them, out of his own free generousness, a large piece of putty and a small piece of glue. While they were out, the girls had floated four photographs of the four children off their cards in hot water. These were now stuck in a row along the top of the cardboard. Cyril put the glue to melt in a jam pot, and put the jam pot in a saucepan, and saucepan on the fire, while Robert painted a wreath of poppies around the photographs. He painted rather well and very quickly, and poppies are easy to do if you've once been shown how. Then Anthea drew some printed letters and Jane coloured them. The words were, With all our loves to shoe, we like the tigs to eat. And when the painting was dry, they all signed their names at the bottom and put the glass on, and glued brown paper round the edge and over the back. And put two loops of tape to hang it up by. Of course everyone saw, when too late, that there were not enough letters in things, so the missing N was put in. It wasn't possible, of course, to do the whole thing over again for just one letter. There, Cyrantea, placing it carefully, face up under the sofa. It'll be hours before the glues dry. Now, Squirrel, fire ahead! Well, then, said Cyril in a great hurry, rubbing at his glowy hands with his pocket handkerchief. What I mean to say is this. There was a long pause. Well, said Robert at last, what is it that you mean to say? It's like this, said Cyril, and again stopped short. Like what? asked Jane. How can I tell you if you will all keep interrupting? said Cyril sharply. So no one said any more, and with wrinkled frowns he arranged his ideas. Look here, he said. What I really mean is, we can remember now what we did when we went to look for the amulet. And if we found it, we should remember that, too. Rather, said Robert, only you see, we haven't. But in the future we shall have. Shall we, though? said Jane. Yes, unless we've been made fools of by the Samyad. So then, where we want to go is where we shall remember about where we did find it. I see, said Robert, but he didn't. I don't, said Anthea, who did very nearly. Say it again, squirrel, and very slowly. If, said Cyril, very slowly indeed, we go into the future after we found the amulet. But we've got to find it first, said Jane. There will be a future, said Cyril, driven to greater clearness by the blank faces of the other three. There will be a time after we found it. Let's go into that time, and then we shall remember how we found it. And then we can go back and do the finding, really. I see, said Robert, and this time he did. And I hope you do. Yes, said Anthea. Oh, squirrel, how clever of you. But will the amulet work both ways? inquired Robert. It's odd, too, said Cyril, if time's only a thing of me of what's its name. Anyway, we might try. All right, said Anthea. We should have to wash anyway. I'm all thick with glue. When everyone was clean and dressed, the charm was held up. We want to go into the future and see the amulet after we found it, said Cyril. And Jane said the word of power. They walked through the big arch of the charm straight into the British Museum. They knew it at once, and there right in front of them under a glass case was the amulet, their own half of it, as well as the other half they'd never been able to find. And the two were joined by a pin of red stone that formed a hinge. Oh, glorious! cried Robert. Here it is! Yes, said Cyril, very gloomily. Here it is! But we can't get it out. No, said Robert, remembering how impossible the Queen of Babylon had found it to get anything out of the glass cases in the Museum, except by Samyad magic, and then she hadn't been able to take anything away with her. No, but we remember where we got it, and we can't. Oh, do we? interrupted Cyril bitterly. Do you remember where we got it? No, said Robert. I don't exactly. Now I come to think of it. Nor did any of the others. But why can't we? said Jane. Oh, I don't know. Cyril's tone was impatient. Some silly old enchanted rule, I suppose. I wish people would teach you magic at school like they do sums, or instead of. It would be so muse having an amulet then. I wonder how far are we in the future, said Antia. The Museum looks the same, only lighter and brighter somehow. Let's go back and try the past again, said Robert. Perhaps the Museum people could tell us how we got it, said Antia with sudden hope. There was no one in the room, but in the next gallery, where the Assyrian things are, and still were, they found a kind stout man and a loose blue gown and stocking legs. Oh, they've got a new uniform! How pretty! said Jane. When they asked him their question, he showed them a label on the case. It said, From the Collection of. A name followed, and it was the name of the learned gentleman who, among themselves, and to his face when he'd been with them at the other side of the amulet, they had called Jimmy. That's not much good, said Cyril. Thank you. I was at your knot at school, asked the kind man in blue. Not expelled for long, I hope. We're not expelled at all, said Cyril rather warmly. Well, I shouldn't do it again if I were you, said the man, and they could see he did not believe them. There is no company so little pleasing as that of people who do not believe you. Thank you for showing us the label, said Cyril, and they came away. As they came through the doors of the museum, they blinked to the sudden glory of sunlight and blue sky. The houses opposite the museum were gone. Instead, there was a big garden, with trees and flowers and smooth green lawns. And not a single notice to tell you not to walk on the grass, and not to destroy the trees and shrubs, and not to pick the flowers. There were comfortable seats all about, and arbours covered with roses. And long trellis walks also rose covered. Whispering, splashing fountains fell into full white marble basins. White statues gleamed among the leaves, and the pigeons that swept about among the branches are pecked on the smooth, soft gravel, where not black and tumble like the museum pigeons are now, but bright and clean and sleek as birds of new silver. A good many people were sitting on the seats, and on the grass babies were rolling and kicking and playing, with very little on indeed. Men as well as women seemed to be in charge of the babies, and were playing with them. It's like a lovely picture, Sedantia, and it was. For the people's clothes were of bright, soft colours, and all beautifully and very simply made. No one seemed to have any hats or bonnets, but there were a great many Japanese-looking sunshades. And among the trees were hung lamps of coloured glass. I expect they like those in the evening, said Jane. I do wish we lived in the future. They walked down the path, and as they went the people on the benches looked to the four children very curiously, but not rudely or unkindly. The children in their turn looked, I hope they did not stare, at the faces of these people in the beautiful soft clothes. Those faces were worth looking at. Not that they were all handsome, though even in the matter of handsome, as they had the advantage of any set of people the children had ever seen, but it was the expression of their faces that made them worth looking at. The children could not tell at first what it was. I know, said Antia suddenly. They're not worried. That's what it is. And it was. Everybody looked calm. No one seemed to be in a hurry. No one seemed to be anxious or fretted. And though some did seem to be sad, not a single one looked worried. But though the people looked kind, everyone looked so interested in the children that they began to feel a little shy, and turned out of the big main path into a narrow little one that wound among trees and shrubs and mossy dripping springs. It was here, and a deep shadowed cleft between tall cypresses, that they found the expelled little boy. He was lying face downward on the mossy turf, and the peculiar shaking of his shoulders was a thing they had seen more than once in each other. So Antia kneeled down beside him and said, What's the matter? I'm expelled from school, said the boy between the subs. This was serious. People are not expelled for lighter fences. Do you mind telling us what you'd done? I tore up a sheet of paper and threw it about in the playground. Said the child in the tone of one confessing an unutterable baseness. You won't talk to me any more now you know that? He added without looking up. Was that all? asked Antia. It's about enough, said the child, and I'm expelled for the whole day. I don't quite understand, said Antia gently. The boy lifted his face, rolled over, and sat up. Why, whoever on earth are you? he said. We're strangers from a far country, said Antia. In our country it's not a crime to leave a bit of paper about. It is here, said the child. If grown-ups do it, they're fined. When we do it, we're expelled for the whole day. Well, but, said Robert, that just means a day's holiday. You must come from a long way off, said the little boy. The holidays, when you all have play and treats and jolliness, all of you together, on your expel days, no one will speak to you. Everyone sees you're an expelider, or you'd be in school. Suppose you were ill? Nobody is, hardly. If they are, of course they wear the badge, and everyone is kind to you. I know a boy that stole his sister's illness badge, and wore it when he was expelled for a day. He got expelled for a week for that. It must be awful not to go to school for a week. Do you like school, then? That's Robert incredulously. Of course I do. It's the loveliest place there is. I chose railways from my special subject this year. There are such splendid models and things, and now I should be all behind because of that torn up paper. You'd choose your own subject, that's Earl. Yes, of course. Where did you come from? Don't you know anything? No, said Jane definitely, so you'd better tell us. Well, on midsummer day school breaks up and everything's decorated with flowers, and you choose your special subject for next year. Of course you have to stick to it for a year, at least. Then there are all your other subjects, of course, reading and painting, and the rules of citizenship. Good gracious, said Antia. Look here! said the child jumping up. It's nearly four. They spell it less only last till then. Come home with me. Mother will tell you all about everything. Will your mother like you taking home strange children? Asked Antia. I don't understand, said the child, settling his leather belt over his honey-coloured smock and stepping out with hard little bare feet. Come on! So they went. The streets were wide and hard and very clean. There were no horses, but a sort of motor carriage that made no noise. The thames flowed between green banks, and there were trees at the edge and people sat under them, fishing, for the stream was as clear as crystal. Everywhere there were green trees and there was no smoke. The houses were set in what seemed like one green garden. The little boy brought them to a house, and at the window was a good, bright mother face. The little boy rushed in, and through the window they could see him hugging his mother, then his eager lips moving and his quick hands pointing. A lady in soft green clothes came out, spoke kindly to them, and took them into the oddest house they had ever seen. It was very bare. There were no ornaments, and yet every single thing was beautiful, from the dresser but his rose of bright china, to the thick squares of eastern-looking carpet on the floors. I can't describe that house, I haven't the time, and I haven't the heart, either. When I think how different it was from our houses, the lady took them all over it. The oddest thing of all was the big room in the middle. It had padded walls and a soft thick carpet, and all the chairs and tables were padded. There wasn't a single thing in it that anyone could hurt itself with. Whatever is this for? Lunatics, asked Sirle. The lady looked very shocked. No, it's for the children, of course, she said. Don't tell me that in your country there are no children's rooms? There are nurseries, said Antia doubtfully, and but the furniture's all coronary and hard, like other rooms. How shocking, said the lady. You must be very much behind the times in your country. Why, the children are more than half of the people. It's not much to have one room where they can have a good time and not hurt themselves. But there's no fireplace, said Antia. Oh, say, airpipes, of course, said the lady. Why, how could you have a fire in a nursery? A child might get burned. In our country, said Robert suddenly, more than three thousand children are burned to death every year. Father told me, he added, as if apologizing for this piece of information were once when I'd been playing with fire. The lady turned quite pale. What a frightful place you must live in, she said. What's all the furniture padded for? Antia asked, hastily turning the subject. Why, you couldn't have little tots of two or three running about in rooms where the things were hard and sharp. They might hurt themselves. Robert fingered the scar on his forehead, where he'd hit it against the nursery fender when he was little. But does everyone have rooms like this? Poor people and all, asked Antia. There's a room like this wherever there's a child, of course, said the lady. I am refreshingly ignorant you are. No, I don't mean ignorant, my dear. Of course, you're awfully well up in ancient history. But I see you haven't done your duties of citizenship course yet. But beggars and people like that, persisted Antia, and tramps and people who haven't any homes. People who haven't any homes, repeated the lady. I really don't understand what you're talking about. It's all different in our country, sits Earl carefully, and I have read it used to be different in London. Using people to have no homes and beg because they were hungry, and wasn't London very black and dirty once upon a time, and the Thames all muddy and filthy and narrow streets, and you must have been reading very old-fashioned books, said the lady, why all that was in the dark ages. My husband can tell you more about that than I. He took ancient history as one of his special subjects. I haven't seen any working people, said Antia. Why we're all working people, said the lady, at least my husband's a carpenter. Good gracious, said Antia, but you're a lady. Ha, said the lady, that quaint old word. Well, my husband will enjoy talk with you. In the dark ages everyone was allowed to have a smoky chimney, and those nasty horses all over the streets, and all sorts of rubbish thrown into the Thames. And of course, the sufferings of the people would hardly bear thinking of. It's very learned of you to know it all. Did you make ancient history your special subject? Not exactly, said Cyril, rather uneasily. What is the duties of citizenship, of course, about? Don't you really know? Aren't you pretending just for fun? Really not? Well, that course teaches you how to be a good citizen, what you must do and what you may not do, so as to do your full share of the work of making your town a beautiful and happy place for people to live in. There's quite a simple little thing they teach the tiny children. How does it go? I must not steal and I must learn. Nothing is mine that I do not earn. I must try and work and play to make things beautiful every day. I must be kind to everyone and never let cruel things be done. I must be brave and I must try when I am hurt never to cry, and always laugh as much as I can and glad that I'm going to be a man, to work for my living and help the rest and never do less than my very best. That's very easy, said Jane. I could remember that. That's only the beginning, of course, said the lady. There heaps more rhymes. There's one beginning. I must not litter the beautiful streets with bits of paper or things to eat. I must not pick the public flowers. They're not mine. They're ours. And things to eat reminds me. Are you hungry? Welles, running out of tray of nice things. What you call them wells? asked Robert as the boy ran off. It's after the great reformer. Sure, you've heard of him. He lived in the Dark Ages, and he saw that what you ought to do is find out what you want, and then try and get it. Up to then people had always tried to tinker up at what they'd got. We've got a great many of the things he thought of. And then wells mean springs of clear water. It's a nice name, don't you think? Here wells are turned but strawberries and cakes and lemonade on a tray, and everyone ate and enjoyed. Now wells, said the lady, run off or you'll be late and not meet your daddy. Wells kissed her, waved to the others, and went. Look here, said auntie suddenly. Would you like to come to our country and see what it's like? It wouldn't take you a minute. Lady laughed, but Jane held up the charm and said the word. What a splendid conjuring trick, cried the lady, enchanted with the beautiful growing arch. Go through, said auntie. The lady went, laughing, but she did not laugh when she found herself, suddenly, in the dining room at Fitzroy Street. Oh, what a horrible trick, she cried. What a hateful, dark, ugly place. She ran to the window and looked out. The sky was grey, the street was foggy. A dismal organ grind to a standing opposite the door. A beggar and a man who'd sold matches were quarrelling at the edge of the pavement on whose greasy black surface people hurried along, hastening to get to the shelter of their houses. Oh, look at their faces, their horrible faces, she cried. What's the matter with them all? They're poor people, that's all, said Robert, but it's not all. They're ill, they're unhappy, they're wicked. Oh, oh, do stop it, there's dear children, it's very, very clever, some sort of magic lantern trick, I suppose, like I've read of. But do stop it, oh, they're poor, tired, miserable, wicked faces. The tears were in her eyes, and the aside to Jane. The arch grew, they spoke the words, and pushed the lady through it into her own time and place, where London is clean and beautiful and the Thames runs clear and bright. And the green leaves grow and no one is afraid, or anxious, or in a hurry. There was a silence, then. I'm glad we went, said Auntie with a deep breath. I'll never throw paper about again as long as I live, said Robert. Mother always told us not to, said Jane. I would like to take up the duties of citizenship for a special subject, said Cyril. I wonder if Father could put me through it. I shall ask him when he comes home. If we'd found the amulet, Father could be home now, said Auntie, and Mother, and the lamb. Let's go into the future again, suggested Jane brightly. Perhaps we could remember if it wasn't such an awful way off. So they did. This time they said, the future where the amulet is not so far away. And they went through the familiar arch into a large light room with three windows. Facing them was the familiar mummy case. And at a table by the window sat the learned gentlemen. They knew him at once, though his hair was white. He was one of the faces that do not change with age. In his hand was the amulet. Complete and perfect. He rubbed his other hand across his forehead in the way they were so used to. Dreams, dreams, he said, whole day just full of them. You've been in dreams with us before now, said Robert. Don't you remember? I do indeed, said he. The room had many more books in the Fitzroy Street room, and far more curious and wonderful Assyrian and Egyptian objects. The most wonderful dreams I ever had had you in them. Where, said Cyril, did you get that thing in your hand? If you weren't just a dream, he answered smiling. You'd remember that you gave it to me. But where did we get it, Cyril asked equally. Ah, you never would tell me that, he said. You always had your little mysteries, you dear children. What a difference you made to that old Bloomsbury house. I wish I could dream you oftener. Now you've grown up, you're not like you used to be. Grown up, said Antia. They learned a gentleman pointed to a frame with four photographs in it. There you are, he said. The children saw four grown-up people's portraits. Two ladies, two gentlemen, and looked on them with loathing. Shall we grow up like that? whispered Jane. How perfectly horrid! If we're ever like that, we shan't know it's horrid, I expect. Antia, with some insight, whispered back. You see, you got used to yourself while you're changing. It's being so sudden makes it seem so frightful now. The learned gentleman was looking at them with wistful kindness. Don't let me undream you just yet, he said. There was a pause. Do you remember when we gave you the amulet, Sir Alas Suddenly? You know, or you would if you weren't a dream, that it was on the 3rd of December 1905. I shall never forget that day. Thank you, said Sirle earnestly. Oh, thank you very much. You've got a new room. Sit, Antia, looking out of the window. And what a lovely garden! Yes, said he. I'm too bold to care even about being near the museum. This is a beautiful place. Do you know, I can hardly believe you're just a dream. You do look so exactly real. Do you know? his voice dropped. I can say it to you, though, of course, if I said it to anyone that wasn't a dream, they'd call me mad. There was something about the amulet you gave me. Something very mysterious. There was that, said Robert. Ah, I don't mean your pretty little childish mysteries about where you got it. But about this thing itself. First, the wonderful dreams I used to have, after you'd shown me the first half of it. Why, my book on Atlantis, that I did, was the beginning of my fame and my fortune, too. And I got it all out of a dream. And then, Britain at the time of the Roman invasion, that was only a pamphlet, but it explained a lot of things people hadn't understood. Yes, it would. That was the beginning. But after you'd given me the whole of the amulet, oh, it was generous of you. Then, somehow, I didn't even need the theorize. I seemed to know about the old Egyptian civilization. And they can't upset my theories. He rubbed his thin hands and laughed triumphantly. They can't, though they have tried. Theories, they call them. But they're more like, I don't know, more like memories. I know I'm right about the secret rites of the Temple of Orman. I'm so glad you're rich, said Antia. He wouldn't, you know, at Fitzroy Street. Indeed I wasn't, said he. But I am now. This beautiful house and this lovely garden, I dig in it sometimes. You remember, you used to tell me to take more exercise. Well, I feel I owe it all to you. And the amulet. I'm so glad, said Antia and Kiston. He started. That didn't feel like a dream, he said, and his voice trembled. It isn't exactly a dream, said Antia softly. It's all part of the amulet. It's sort of an extra-special real dream, dear Jimmy. Ah, city, when you call me that, I know I'm dreaming. My little sister, I dream of her sometimes. But it's not real like this. Do you remember the day I dreamed you brought me the Babylon-ish ring? We remember it all, said Robert. Did you leave Fitzroy Street because you were too rich for it? Oh, no, he said approachfully. You know I should never have done such a thing as that. Of course I left when your old nurse died. And what's the matter? Oh, nurse dead, said Antia. Oh, no. Uh, yes, yes, it's the common lot. It's a long time ago now. Jane held up the amulet in a hand that twistered. Come, she cried. Oh, come home. She may be dead before we get there, and then we can't give it her. Oh, come. Oh, don't let the dream end now. Pleaded the learned gentleman. It must, said Antia firmly, and kissed him again. When it comes to people dying, said Robert, goodbye. I'm so glad you're rich and famous and happy. Do come, cried Jane, stamping in her agony of impatience. And they went. Old nurse brought in tea almost as soon as they were back in Fitzroy Street. As she came in with the tray, the girls rushed at her and nearly upset her and it. Don't die, cried Jane. Oh, don't. And Antia cried. Dear ducky darling old nurse, don't die. Lord love you, said nurse. I'm not a going to die yet a while, please, Evan. Whatever, nuts, the matter with the chicks. Nothing, only don't. She put the tray down and hugged the girls in turn. The boys, tumpter on the back, with heart felt affection. I'm as well as ever I was in my life, she said. What nonsense about dying. You've been a-sittin' too long in the dusk, that's what it is. Regular blind men's holiday. Leave going me while I light the gas. The yellow light illuminated four pale faces. We do love you so. Antia went on, and we've made you a picture to show you how we love you. Get it out, squirrel. The glazed testimony almost dragged out from under the sofa and displayed. The glue's not dry yet, said Cyril. Look out. What a beauty! cried all nurse. Well, I never. And your pictures and a beautiful writing and all. Well, I always did say your arts was in the right place, if a bit careless at times. Well, I never did. I don't know as I was ever pleased better my life. She hugged them all, one after the other. And the boys did not mind it somehow, that day. How is it we can remember all about the future now? Antia woke the Samyad with laborious gentleness to put the question. How is it we can remember what we saw in the future? And yet, when we were in the future, we could not remember the bit of the future that was past then. The time of finding the amulet. Why, what a silly question! Said the Samyad. Of course you cannot remember what hasn't happened yet. But the future hasn't happened yet, antia persisted. And we remembered that, all right. Oh, that isn't what's happened, my good child. Said the Samyad, rather crossly. That's prophetic vision. And you do remember dreams, don't you? So why not visions? You never do seem to understand the simplest thing. It went to sand again at once. Antia crept down in her nightgown to give one last kiss to all nurse, and one last look at the beautiful testimonial hanging, by its tapes, its glue now firmly set, in glazed glory on the wall of the kitchen. Good night, bless your lovin' art! Said all nurse. If only you don't catch your death or cold! End of chapter 12. Recording by Porick. Chapter 13 of the Story of the Amulet. This is the LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Porick. The Story of the Amulet by E. Nazbet. Chapter 13. The Shipwreck on the Tin Islands. Blue and red, said Jane Softly, make purple. Not always they don't, said Cyril. It has to be crimson lake and prussian blue. If you mix for a million and indigo, you get the most loadsome slate colour. Sepe is the nastiest colour in the box, I think, said Jane, sucking her brush. They were all painting. Nurse in the flush of grateful emotion, excited by Robert's border of puppies. Had presented each of the four with a shilling paint box, and had supplemented the gift to the pile of old copies of the illustrated London news. Sepe, said Cyril instructively, is made out of beastly cuttlefish. Purples made out of a fish as well as out of red and blue, said Robert. Tyrion purple was, I know. Out of lobsters, said Jane dreamily, they're red when they're boiled, and blue when they aren't. If you mixed live and dead lobsters, you'd get Tyrion purple. I shouldn't like to mix anything with a live lobster, said Anthea, shuddering. Well, there aren't any other red and blue fish, said Jane. You'd have to. I'd rather not have the purple, said Anthea. The Tyrion purple wasn't that colour when it came out of the fish. Nor yet afterwards it wasn't, said Robert. It was scarlet really, and Roman emperors wore it. And it wasn't any nice colour while the fish had it. It was a yellowish white liquid of a creamy consistency. How do you know, said Cyril? I read it, said Robert, with the meek pride of superior knowledge. Where? asked Cyril. In print, said Robert, still more proudly meek. Who think everything's true if it's printed? said Cyril, naturally annoyed. But it isn't. Father said so. Quite a lot of lies get printed, especially in newspapers. You see, as it happens, said Robert, in what was really a rather annoying tone, it wasn't a newspaper. It was in a book. How sweet Chinese white is, said Jane, dreamily sucking her brush again. I don't believe it, said Cyril to Robert. Have a suck yourself, suggested Robert. I don't mean about the Chinese white. I mean about the cream fish turning purple and, oh, cried Anthea, jumping up very quickly. I'm tired of painting. Let's go summer by amulet. I say, let's let it choose. Cyril and Robert agreed that was an idea. Jane consented to stop painting because, as she said, Chinese white, though certainly sweet, gives you a queer feeling in the back of your throat if you paint with it too long. The amulet was held up. Take us somewhere, said Jane, anywhere you like in the past. But somewhere where you are. Then she said the word. Next moment everyone felt a queer rocking and swaying, something like what you feel when you go out in a fishing boat. And that was not wonderful when you come to think of it, for it was in a boat that they found themselves. A queer boat, with high buttocks, pierced with holes for oars to go through. There was a high seat for the steersmen, and the prow was shaped like the head of some great animal with big, staring eyes. The boat rode at anchor in a bay, and the bay was very smooth. The crew were dark wiry fellows with black beards and hair. They had no clothes except a tunic from waist to knee, and round caps with knobs on the top. They were very busy, and what they were doing was so interesting to the children that at first they did not even wonder where the amulet had brought them. And the crew seemed too busy to notice the children. They were fastening rush baskets to a long rope with a great piece of cork at the end, and in each basket they put mussels or little frogs. Then they cast out the rope, the basket sank, but the cork floated. And all about in the blue water were other boats, and all the crews of all the boats were busy with ropes, and baskets, and frogs, and mussels. What ever are you doing? Jane suddenly asked a man who had rather more clothes than the others, and seemed to be a sort of captain or overseer. He started and stared at her, but he had seen too many strange lands to be very much surprised at these queerly-dressed stowaways. Set in law is for the dodge-shell fish, he said shortly. How did you get here? The sort of magic, said Robert carelessly. The captain fingered an amulet that hung round his neck. What is this place? Ha, Cyril. Tire, of course, said the man. Then he drew back and spoke in a low voice to one of the sailors. Now we shall know about your precious cream jugfish, said Cyril. But we never said come to tire, said Jane. The amulet heard his talking-expect. I think it's most obliging of it, said Anthea. And the amulet's here, too, said Robert. We ought to be able to find it in a little ship like this. I wonder which of them's got it. Oh, look, look! cried Anthea suddenly, and the bare breast of one of the sailors gleamed something red. It was the exact counterpart of their precious half-amulet. A silence full of emotion was broken by Jane. Then we found it, she said. Oh, do let's take it and go home. Easy to say, take it, said Cyril. He looked very strong. He did. Yet not so strong as the other sailors. It's odd, said Anthea musingly. I do believe I've seen that man somewhere before. He's rather like our learned gentleman, said Robert. But I tell you who he's much more like. At that moment that sailor looked up. His eyes met Robert's, and Robert and the others had no longer any doubt as to where they'd seen him before. It was Rec Mara, the priest who had led them to the Palace of Pharaoh, and whom Jane had looked back at through the arch when he was cancelling Pharaoh's guard to take the jewels and fly for his life. Nobody was quite pleased, and nobody quite knew why. Jane voiced the feelings of all when she said, fingering there amulet through the folds of her frock. We can all go back in a minute if anything nasty happens. For the moment nothing worse happened than an offer of food. Figs and cucumbers it was, and very pleasant. I see, said the captain, that you are from a far country. Since you have honoured my boat by appearing on it, you must stay here till morning. Then I will lead you to one of our great ones. He loves strangers from far lands. Let's go home, Jane whispered. All the frogs are drowning now. I think the people here are cruel. But the boys wanted to stay and see the lines taken up in the morning. It's just like eel-pots and lobster-pots, said Cyril. The baskets only open from outside. I vote we stay. So they stayed. That's Tyre over there, said the captain, who was evidently trying to be civil. He pointed to a great island rock that rose deeply from the sea, crowned with huge walls and towers. There was another city on the mainland. That's part of Tyre too, said the captain. It's where the great merchants have their pleasure-houses and gardens and farms. Look, look! said Cyril suddenly. What a lovely little ship! A ship in full sail was passing swiftly through the fishing fleet. The captain's face changed. He frowned, and his eyes blazed with fury. Insolent young barbarian, he cried. Do you call the ships of Tyre little? None greater sail the seas. That ship has been on a three years voyage. She is known in all the great trading ports from here to the Tin Islands. She comes back rich and glorious. Her very anchor is of silver. I'm sure we beg your pardon, said Auntie Hastily. In our country we say little for a pet name. Your wife might call you her dear little husband, you know. I should like to catch her at it, growled the captain. But he stops scowling. It's a rich trade, he went on. For cloth once dipped. Second best glass, and the rough images are young artists' car for practice. The barbarian king in Tessos lets us work the silver mines. We get so much silver there that we'd leave them our iron anchors and come back with silver ones. How splendid, said Robert, do go on, what's cloth once dipped? You must be barbarians from the outer darkness, said the captain scornfully. All wealthy nations know that our finest stuffs are twice died. They're only for the robes of kings and priests and princes. What do the rich merchants wear, asked Jane with interest, in the pleasure houses? They wear the dibatha. Our merchants are princes, scowled the skipper. Oh, don't be cross, we do so like hearing about things. We want to know all about the dying, said Anthea Cordially. Oh, you do, do you? growled the man. So that's what you're here for. Well, you won't get the secrets of the died trade out of me. He went away, and everyone felt snubbed and uncomfortable. And all the time the long, narrow eyes of the Egyptian were watching, watching. They felt as though he was watching them through the darkness, when they lay down to sleep in a pile of cloaks. Next morning the baskets were drawn up full of what looked like welk shells. The children were rather in the way, but they made themselves as small as they could. While the skipper was at the other end of the boat, they did ask one question of a sailor, whose face was a little less unkind than the others. Yes, he answered. This is the dive fish. It's a sort of murex. It is another kind that they catch its seed on, and then, of course, is a kind that is used for the debap-fa. Well, that's quite different. It's hold your tongue. Shuttered the skipper, and the man held it. The laden boat was rode slowly round the end of the island, and was made fast in one of the two great harbours that lay inside a long breakwater. The harbour was full of all sorts of ships, so that Cyril and Robert enjoyed themselves much more than their sisters. The breakwater and the keys were heaped with bales and baskets, and crowded with slaves and sailors. Further along some men were practising diving. That's jolly good! said Robert, as a naked brand body cleft the water. I should think so, said the skipper. The pearl-divers of Persia are not more skillful. Why, we've got a freshwater spring that comes out of the bottom of the sea. Our divers dive down and bring up the freshwater in skin-bottles. Can your barbarian divers do as much? I suppose not, said Robert, and put away a wild desire to explain to the captain the English system of waterworks, pipes, taps, and the intricacies of the plumber's trade. As they neared the key the skipper made a hasty toilet. He did his hair, combed his beard, put on a garment like a jersey with short sleeves, an embroidered belt, a necklace of beads, and a big signatory. Now, said he, I'm fit to be seen. Come along. Where to? said Jane cautiously. To Feles, the great sea-captain, said the skipper. The man I told you of, who loves barbarians. The Nreckmara came forward and for the first time spoke. I have known these children in another land. He said, you know my powers of magic. It was my magic that brought these barbarians to your boat. And you know how they will profit you. I read your thoughts. Let me come with you and see the end of them, and then I will work the spell I promised you in return for the little experience you've so kindly given me on your boat. The skipper looked at the Egyptian with some disfavour. So it was your doing, he said. I might have guessed it. Well, come on. So he came, and the girls wished he hadn't. But Robert whispered, Nonsense! As long as he's with us we've got some chance of the amulet. We can always fly if anything goes wrong. The morning was so fresh and bright, their breakfast had been so good and so unusual. They had actually seen the amulet round the Egyptian's neck. One or two, or all of these things, suddenly raised the children's spirits. They went off quite cheerfully through the city gate. It was not arched, but roofed over a great flat stone. And so, through the street, which smelled horribly efficient garlic and a thousand other things even desegreable, but far worse than the street scents, was the scent of the factory, where the skipper called in to sell his night's catch. I wish I could tell you all about that factory, but I haven't time, and perhaps after all you aren't interested in dying works. I will only mention that Robert was triumphantly proved to be right. The dye was a yellowish-white liquid of a creamy consistency, and it smelt more strongly of garlic than garlic itself does. While the skipper was bargaining with the master for the dye works, the Egyptian came close to the children, and said suddenly and softly, Trust me. I wish we could, said Antia. You feel, said the Egyptian, that I want your amulet. That makes you distrust me. Yes, said Cyril bluntly. But you also. You want my amulet, and I am trusting you. There's something in that, said Robert. We have the two halves of the amulet, said the priest. But not yet the pin that joined them. Our only chance of getting that is to remain together. Once part these two halves, and they may never be found in the same time and place. Be wise. Our interests are the same. Before anyone could say more, the skipper came back, and with him the dye master. His hair and beard were curled like the men in Babylon's, and he was dressed like the skipper, but with added grandeur of gold and embroidery. He had necklaces of beads and silver, and a glass amulet or a man's face, very like his own, set between two bull's heads, as well as gold and silver bracelets and armlets. He looked keenly at the children, then he said, My brother Philez has just come back from Tarshish. He's at his garden house, unless he's hunting wild boar in the marshes. He gets frightfully bored on shore, said the skipper. He's a true-born Phoenician. Tire, tire forever! Tire rules the waves, as the old song says. I'll go at once and show them my young barbarians. I should, said the dye master. They are very rum, aren't they? What frightful clothes, and what a lot of them! Observe the covering of their feet, hideous indeed! Robert could not help thinking how easy, and at the same time pleasant, it would be to catch hold of the dye master's feet, and tip him backward into the great sunken bat just near him. But if he had, flight would have had to be the next move. So he restrained his impulse. There was something about this Tyrian adventure that was different from all the others. It was, somehow, calmer. And there was the undoubted fact that the charm was there on the neck of the Egyptian. So they enjoyed everything to the full. The row from the island city to the shore, the ride on the donkeys at the skipper hard at the gate of the mainland city, and the pleasant country, palms and figs and cedars all about. It was like a garden, clematis, honeysuckle, and jasmine clung by the olive and mulberry trees. And there were tulips and gladiolas, and clumps of mandrake, which is bell flowers that look as though they were cut out of dark blue jewels. In the distance were the mountains of Lebanon. The house they came to at last was rather like a bungalow, long and low with pillars all along the front. Cedars and sycamores grew near it and sheltered it pleasantly. Everyone dismounted and the donkeys were led away. Why is this like Russiaville? whispered Robert, and instantly supply the answer. Because it's the place to spend a happy day. It's jolly decent of the skipper to have brought us to such a ripping place, said Cyril. Do you know, Cedantia, this feels more real than anything else we've seen. It's like a holiday in the country at home. The children were left alone in a large hall. The floor was mosaic, done with wonderful pictures of ships and sea-beasts and fishes. Through an open door they could see a pleasant courtyard with flowers. I should like to spend a week here, said Jane, and donkey-ride every day. Everyone was feeling very jolly. Even the Egyptian looked pleasanter than usual. And then quite suddenly the skipper came back with a joyous smile. With him came the master of the house. He looked steadily at the children and nodded twice. Yes, he said, my steward will pay you the price, but I shall not pay that high rate for the Egyptian dog. Two passed on. This, said the Egyptian, is a pretty kettle of fish. What is, asked all the children at once, our present position, said the rechimara, our seafaring friend, he added, has sold us all for slaves. A hasty council succeeded the shock of this announcement. The priest was allowed to take part in it. His advice was stay, because they were in no danger, and the amulet in its completeness must be somewhere near, or of course, they could not have come to that place at all. And after some discussion they agreed to this. Their children were treated more as guests and slaves, but the Egyptian was sent to the kitchen and made to work. Theles, the master of the house, went off that very evening, by the king's orders to start on another voyage. And when he was gone his wife found the children amusing company, and kept them talking and singing and dancing till quite late. To distract my mind from my sorrow, she said, I do like being a slave, remarked Jane cheerfully, as they curled up on the big soft cushions that were to be their beds. It was black night when they were awakened, each by hand pressed softly over its face, and a low voice that whispered, Be quiet, or all is lost. So they were quiet. It's me, Rekmara, the priest of Amen. Said the whisperer. The man who brought us has gone to sea again, and he has taken my amulet from me by force, and I know no magic to get it back. Is there magic for that in the amulet you bear? Everyone was instantly awake by now. We can go after him, said Sero, leaping up. But he might take hours as well, or he might be angry with us for following him. I'll see to that, said the Egyptian in the dark. Hide your amulet well. There in the deep blackness of that room in the Tyrian country house, the amulet was once more held up and the words spoken. All passed through onto a ship that tossed and tumbled on a wind-blown sea. They craped to get it there till morning, and Jane and Cyril were not at all well. When the dawn showed dove-coloured across the steely ways, they stood up as well as they could for the tumbling of the ship. Theles, that hardy sailor and adventurer, turned quite pale when he turned around suddenly and saw them. Well, he said, well, I never did. Master, said the Egyptian bowing low, and that was even more difficult than standing up. We are here by the magic of the sacred amulet that hangs around your neck. I never did, repeated Theles. Well, well. What port is the ship bound for? asked Robert with a nautical air, but Theles said. Are you a navigator? Robert had to own that he was not. Then, said Theles, I don't mind telling you that we're bound for the tin isles. Tyre alone knows where the tin isles are. It is a splendid secret to keep from all the world. It's as great a thing to us as your magic to you. He spoke quite a new voice, and he seemed to respect both the children and the amulet a good deal more than he had done before. The king sent you, didn't he? said Jane. Yes, answered Theles. He bade me set sail with half a score brave gentleman and this crew. You shall go with us and see many wonders. He bowed and left them. What are we going to do now? said Robert, when Theles had caused them to be left along with a breakfast of dried fruits and a sort of hard biscuit. Wait till he lands in the tin isles, said Rackamara. Then we can get the barbarians to help us. We will attack him by night and tear the sacred amulet from his accursed heathen neck. He added grinding his teeth. When shall we get to the tin isles? asked Jane. Oh, six months perhaps, or a year, said the Egyptian cheerfully. A year of this, cried Jane, and Cyril, who was still feeling far too unwell to care about breakfast, hugged himself miserably and shuddered. It was Robert who said, Look here, we can shorten that year. Jane, out with the amulet. Wish that we were where the amulet will be when the ship is twenty miles from the tin island. That'll give us time to mature our plans. It was done, the work of a moment. And there they were on the same ship between grey northern sky and grey northern sea. The sun was setting in a pale yellow line. It was the same ship, but it was changed, and so were the crew. Where they're worn and dirty were the sailors, and their clothes torn and ragged. The children saw that, of course. Though they had skipped the nine months, the ship had had to live through them. Phallus looked thinner, and his face was rugged and anxious. Ah, he cried, that charm has brought you back. I have prayed to it daily these nine months. And now, you are here? Have you no magic that can help? What is your need? said the Egyptian quietly. I need a great wave that shall well my way the foreign ship that follows us. A month ago it lay in wait for us, by the pillars of the gods, and it follows, follows, to find out the secret of Tyre, the place of the tin islands. If I could steer by night I could escape them yet, but tonight there will be no stars. My magic will not serve you here, said the Egyptian. But Robert said, my magic will not bring up great waves, but I can show you how to steer without stars. He took out the shilling compass, still, fortunately, in working order, that he had bought off another boy at school for five pence. A piece of Indian rubber, a strip of whale bone, and half a stick of red ceiling wax. And he showed Theles how it worked. And Theles wondered at the compass's magic truth. I will give it to you, Robert said, in return for that charm round your neck. Theles made no answer. He first laughed, snatched the compass from Robert's hand, and turned away still laughing. Be comforted, said the priest. Our time will come. The dusk deepened, and Theles crouched behind the dim lantern, steered by the shilling compass from the crystal palace. No one ever knew how the other ship sailed, but suddenly, in the deep night, the lookout man at the stern cried out in a terrible voice. She's close upon us! And we, Theles, are close to the harbour. He was silent a moment, and suddenly he altered the ship's course, and then he stood up and spoke. Good friends and gentlemen, he said, who are bound with me in this brave venture by our king's command. The false foreign ship is close on our heels. If we land, they land, and only the gods know whether they might not beat us in a fight, and themselves survive to carry back the tale of Tyre's secret island, to enrich their own miserable land. Shall this be? Cry the half-dozen men near him. The slaves were rowing hard below, and could not hear his words. The Egyptian leaped upon him. Suddenly, fiercely, as a wild beast leaps. Give me back my amulet! he cried, and caught at the charm. The chain that held it snapped, and it lay in the priest's hand. Theles laughed, standing balanced to the leap of the ship that answered the oar stroke. This is no time for charms and mummies, he said. Weaved lived like men, and will die like gentlemen for the honour and glory of Tyre, our splendid city. Tyre! Tyre forever! It's Tyre that rules the waves! I steer her straight for the dragon rocks, and we go down for our city as brave men should. The creeping cowards who follow shall go down as slaves, and slaves they shall be to us when we live again. Tyre! Tyre forever! A great shout went up, and the slaves below joined in it. Quick! the amulet! Fredantia, and held it up. Rek Mare, held up the one he had snatched from Theles. The word was spoken, and the two great archers grew on the plunging ship in the shrieking wind under the dark sky. From each amulet a great and beautiful green light streamed and shone far out over the waves. It illuminated, too, the black faces and jagged teeth of the great rocks that lay not too shipsland from the boat's peaked nose. Tyre! Tyre forever! It's Tyre that rules the waves! The voices of the doomed rose in a triumphant shout. The children scrambled through the arch and stood trembling and blinking in the Fitzroy Street Parlor, and in their ears still sounded the whistle of the wind and the rattle of the oars and the crash of the ship's bow and the rocks, and the last shout of the brave gentleman adventurers who went to their death singing for the sake of the city they loved. And so we've lost the other half of the amulet again! said Antia, when they told the Samyad all about it. Nonsense! Poo! said the Samyad. That wasn't the other half. It was the same half that you've got, though one that wasn't crushed and lost. But how could it be the same? said Antia gently. Well, not exactly, of course. No one you've got is a good many years older, but at any rate it's not the other one. What did you say when you wished? I forget, said Jane. I don't, said the Samyad. You said, take us where you are. And it did, so you see it was the same half. I see, said Antia. But you mark my words, the Samyad went on. You'll have trouble with that priest yet. Why, he was quite friendly, said Antia. All the same, you'd better beware of the Reverend Lacanada. Oh, I'm sick of the amulet. Said Cyril, we shall never get it. Oh, yes we shall, said Robert. Don't you remember December 3rd? Jinx, said Cyril, had forgotten that. I don't believe it, said Jane, and I don't feel well at all. If I were you, said the Samyad, I should not go out into the past again till that date. You'll find it safer not to go where you're likely to meet that Egyptian any more at present. Of course we'll do as you say, said Antia soothingly, though there's something about his face that I really do like. Still, you don't want to run after him, I suppose, snapped the Samyad. You wait till the third, and then see what happens. Cyril and Jane were feeling far from well. Antia was always obliging, so Robert was overruled. And they promised. And none of them, not even the Samyad, at all foresaw, as you no doubt do quite plainly, exactly what it is that would happen on that memorable date. End of Chapter 13 Recording by Porick